


Two of a Kind

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Doctor/Master - Freeform, F/M, Mild Angst, Sex in a TARDIS, Sex on the console, less explicit than you'd hope, twissy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 21:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11388561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: She's right, it really has been a long time since he did this with another member of his own species.





	Two of a Kind

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is set after Empress of Mars, but what do I know, eh?

Fixing the hyperspace stabilisers is a two-man job at least, so the Doctor stands making adjustments at the console while Missy works beneath it. There is silence as they work, but it's a comfortable, friendly silence, not anything awkward and oppressive. The background hum of the TARDIS is a soothing extra presence in the room, a sound that the Doctor has always found relaxing. It's nice, actually, working together with no one to point out that she should be in the vault and he should be more careful. 

The silence is shattered by the sound of the sonic screwdriver hitting the plating beneath Missy's work-space. The Doctor twists to see what has happened, trying to keep his hands on the controls while still looking for Missy. 

“Don't worry,” she calls, “I was just being clumsy.” Her head pops up from the level below. “Actually I'm almost done here. How's it going at your end?”

“Fine,” he tells her. “I really should get some replacement parts, but in the absence of any desire to visit Gallifrey again I'll make do with what I've got.”

Missy smiles and disappears back into the hole in the floor. The Doctor smiles back automatically and then mentally slaps his own wrist for forgetting that she's still dangerous and cruel. Though, in his own defence, that's no longer as obvious as it once was. Maybe she really is changing. 

Finally, she clambers out the work-space and wipes dirt from her hands onto her skirt. “Really,” she says, “it wouldn't hurt you to dust the place occasionally.” She catches his eye and adds, “I'm not going to clean your TARDIS for you, I'm a Time Lord not a vacuum cleaner. You should get the bald one to do it, he looks like he'd enjoy some thankless manual labour.”

She hands the screwdriver back to him. “I can think of at least a dozen ways to kill you with this thing, you know.”

“And yet you didn't.”

She shrugs. “It seemed like more effort than it's worth.”

He doesn't know what to think of this, so he steers the conversation in a safer direction. “Thanks for your help.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh, is that all I'm getting?” She closes the space between them, touches his chest. “Such a disappointment.” 

The Doctor moves her hand from his chest, but his fingers twine with hers. “Missy, we've been over this. You're my prisoner.”

“I don't mind,” she says. “I get so lonely,” she adds, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You leave me on my own all the time, it's very cruel.”

“You know why you have to stay in the vault,” he says with a tired sigh. “You know I can't spend every minute trying to entertain you.”

“Even so, I have needs and they're not being met.”

“Needs?” he asks, stupidly.

She presses herself against him. “Needs,” she repeats, in his ear. 

He lets go of her hand and takes a step away from her, earning a scowl. “That's not a need, it's a want. You won't die if you don't get any.”

“Just because celibacy hasn't killed _you_...” she begins.

“It hasn't killed anyone.”

“Then perhaps I'll be the first.” She lifts her chin and adopts her most dignified pose. “Don't you trust me?”

He considers the question, which is really the root question under everything else. “I don't know,” he says, honestly. 

Missy steps forwards and traps him between her and the console. “Even if you don't, it's not like that's ever stopped you before.” She reaches up, strokes his cheek. “Hush, no one needs to know. I won't tell your stupid entourage if you don't.”

He can't deny that she's right. He closes his eyes and sighs. “It's a very bad idea,” he says, trying to delay the inevitable defeat. 

“Bad ideas are the best ideas,” says Missy. She takes her hand away and kisses his cheek. “Please,” she breathes. 

The Doctor opens his eyes. He can't in all honesty deny that he wants her, and maybe if no one else finds out... His logic is pathetic, even he can see that. He should take her back to the vault, right now, before anything stupid happens.

He turns his head a fraction and meets her lips with his own. He settles his hands on her waist, draws her closer still.

Missy emits a contented little sigh, nips his bottom lip with her teeth, and tugs at him until they turn around and her back is to the controls. “Here,” she says, hopping up to fill a gap between levers and dials.

He pulls away slightly. “Not here,” he says, “she's very particular about her surfaces.” He tries to move her back to her feet.

Missy stays where she is. “I don't care.”

“What if you hit something important and turn the TARDIS inside out?”

“I won't,” she says, moving her legs to either side of him, keeping him still with the press of her thighs. “Now stop worrying.” She cups the back of his head with her hand and pulls him in for another kiss. 

This is wrong on so many levels, but for once he doesn't really care. He moves his mouth to her neck and a hand to her breasts. Missy tilts her head back, says “Yes, good.” She rocks against him until he's breathless and hard. 

She smiles. “I haven't done this with another Time Lord in such a long time,” she tells him between gasps of air. “I expect it's been even longer for you.” 

He pops the buttons on her blouse, tugs the scarf from around her neck and drops it to the floor beside them. Her response is to unfasten his trousers and take a firm hold of what she finds inside.

He gasps at the coolness of her touch, lets her shift and move on the console until she finds a good angle and then he catches another breath as he slides into her.

Missy meets his gaze. “There,” she breathes, “that wasn't so difficult, was it?”

He moves slowly at first until she digs her fingernails into the back of his neck and sets a faster pace with her own movements. That hasn't changed, anyway, she still feels the need to control everything they do together. That might be a bad sign, but he can worry about that later.

She's right, it really has been a long time since he did this with another member of his own species. She's not as intensely hot as a human would be, she has a few extra internal muscles that he'd somehow managed to forget about, and she knows exactly where to touch him without needing to ask.

His only other sexual partner this time around has been River, who for all her kinks was never as straight-up aggressive as Missy is being. He'll probably have bruises later, but he can lie about any visible wounds if anyone asks.

Missy taps his shoulder to get his attention and extends a hand towards him when he looks at her. “Please,” she says, “I want you to know what it's like.” 

He nods. “Nothing else,” he says, erecting a few mental walls to keep her on the surface of his mind.

“Okay.” She brushes her fingers against his temple and he is Missy, she is him, they are barely distinguishable as separate beings. It's intense and almost overwhelming, and maybe this wasn't the best idea when he's so out of practice with telepathy but it's what their species does and it just feels so damn good. 

Missy doesn't push any further into his mind, true to her word, but it's still too much and he can feel how close she is to finishing and surely he's going to die before she gets there. His hearts are a deafening thud in his ears and he forgets to breathe for long enough that the respiratory bypass kicks in.

Missy is loud when she finally comes, pulling him along after her as her cries echo round the room. He wasn't expecting her to be shy, but he still has to chase away the worry that someone might have heard them.

“That wasn't bad,” she says, fixing her hair as she gets back to her feet. “We should do that again some time.”

“Missy,” he starts, but then his words disappear as he finds he has no idea what to say to her. She'd surely laugh at anything approaching a declaration of love, throw it back at him at the worst possible moment later on. He feels lonely in his own head now that she's left his mind, but telling her that might make him seem needy. He just repeats, “Missy.”

“Get dressed,” she says as she fixes her own clothes. “And close your mouth, you look like an idiot trying to catch flies.”

It hurts, but he can't say it's unexpected. She is only tender and loving in his daydreams, in his stupid fantasies about running across the universe together. He can't let himself forget what she's really like, as much as he might want to. Maybe she has foolish thoughts about him too, but he's not going to ask. He is never going to ask. 

She's Missy, and that's all there is to it.


End file.
